Almost makes me forget
by Lumielt
Summary: "Nice view, isn't it? Almost makes me forget we're in an apocalypse." Sugarie undead AU. Contains spoilers for the game death/blood.
1. Dirt and Masks

He met her in an alley.

For a minute, Zacharie thought she was one of the undead he tried so hard to avoid—crouched low to the ground, covered in dirt and blood, wild eyes staring at him through matted hair. He was a merchant, not a fighter, and was preparing to run when she spoke.

"Are you alive?"

"Are _you_?" he retorted, startled by the soft human voice. "You look half-dead, amigo."

She laughed uneasily. "Maybe I am."

"Come on." Zacharie surprised himself with the offer. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Zacharie didn't really have a home, not anymore. Instead, he had a large backpack stuffed with various items, and a mental list of places he could spend the night. Some were literal holes in the walls—others were houses he'd rigged up with rainwater showers and small electrical generators. He took the girl to one of the latter, and after patiently convincing her that yes, it was safe, waited in the kitchen while she cleaned herself up in the bathroom.

When she finally emerged, she startled him with how pale she was. Pale skin and white-blonde hair contrasted with bizarrely dark grey eyes, all hidden an hour ago under dirt and blood.

"You've certainly changed," Zacharie commented. "What's your name?"

The girl bit her lip. "They called me Sucre."

"I'm Zacharie. Nice to meet you."

"Why do you wear that?" Sucre stepped forward, reaching out to touch Zacharie's mask.

It took a moment for Zacharie to regain his composure—he wasn't used to people touching him. Nobody had in many, many years, even before the outbreaks began. "Because I don't want people to recognize me."

She laughed, tapping the mask with her fingernails. "You aren't more recognizable with it?"

"Not when I take it off."

Zacharie hadn't had a plan in mind when he took Sucre home with him—but if he _had_, it would have been to simply help her clean herself up, maybe give her some food, and send her on her way.

It _hadn't_ been to let her stay with him indefinitely, becoming something of a sidekick, or maybe even a friend. Not _once_ had he planned on keeping someone who constantly giggled and tapped on his mask, or wasted time finding candy bars instead of real food, or muttered French in her sleep.

What was even worse was, as off-putting as it was to suddenly have a companion, he enjoyed having someone with him. Even if it was a bizarrely pale French girl with a sweet tooth.

"Where do you think the animals went?" She asked one day.

"Into the woods, maybe." Zacharie shrugged. "There are still some birds around."

"Can you catch birds, Zacharie? Can you catch ducks?"

"If you want a duck."

She opened her mouth to respond or maybe just laugh, but Zacharie shushed her quickly. "Something is outside."

Both fell silent, listening to the quiet scratching sound now coming from their door. There were no grunts, no muffled moans of the undead, but just scratching was enough.

"Let's go, cheri," Zacharie grabbed his backpack as Sucre scrambled to her feet, taking his hand. In moments, they were out the backdoor and on the way to another safehouse, and a once-deceased man in a business suit continued clawing at the door.


	2. Intermission: The Batter

The Batter had left his real name behind him a long time ago.

Benjamin Mortis had lived with his wife and small son in a suburban home, and was a Little League baseball coach on weekends.

The Batter had destroyed—__purified__—his wife and son as soon as they had become infected. Elura and Hugo rested in peace, while their once-undead bodies rested in pieces. It was a hard, cold job, but someone had to do it.

There was nothing else to do, anyway. This world had no point to it anymore, unless it was wiped clean to start again. What other choice was there? To run around like Zacharie, trading long-expired cans of ravioli with people and calling yourself a merchant? To give yourself up to the hoards and becoming undead yourself? No.

Instead, the Batter did was he was meant to do: he purified. And no zombie was going to escape his holy wrath, or his baseball bat.


	3. Nice View

"Nice view, isn't it? Almost makes me forget we're in an apocalypse."

"I forget a lot." Sucre lay curled up on the ground, head in Zacharie's lap. "It doesn't feel like an apocalypse."

Zacharie didn't reply, just leaned against the tree trunk and gazed at the slow sunset. The park was a surprisingly safe area: most humans preferred the shelter of a building, and the undead followed the humans. And from their hilltop perch, he could see any danger before it could get close.

The sunset cast a red tinge over everything, staining Sucre's hair and Zacharie's mask pink. To his surprise, Sucre had accepted his mask with ease, never seeming disconcerted or demanding he take it off like some.

Sucre was falling asleep now, speaking softly to either Zacharie or herself, he couldn't tell. "Imagine it like this, and it'll always be this way…if you picture it really hard…" she trailed off into foreign words, and then into silence.

The sun was lower now, the sky the color of cherry candies and fall leaves and spilled blood.

Zacharie only met the Batter after the undead ravaged the city. He was a cold, calm man, with a temper that should've been at odds with his demeanor. He seemed permanently annoyed at Zacharie, but always gave him a fair trade.

Some voice in Zacharie's head told him to keep Sucre a secret from the bat-wielding man, and Zacharie did as it said, often leaving the girl at home when he went out to wheel and deal. There was no reason to drag her into it; she was happier at home, where she could simply pretend the undead didn't exist.

"Sucre?" He called out, entering the house they were currently staying at. Today had been a good day—the Batter had somehow gotten his hands onto a bag of chocolate chips, and of course Zacharie had ended up with it. "Sucre, I have a present for you."

At first, only silence responded to his words. Then, a small, frightened whimper.

"Sucre? Sucre!" letting his backpack fall to the ground, Zacharie ran into the living room. Broken glass—blood on the floor—a figure lying on the ground, Sucre huddled in the corner. The masked man was next to her in a moment, kneeling next to the girl. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

"He got in," Sucre whispered. Her voice was surprisingly steady. "Through the window."

"Are you hurt?" Zacharie repeated, trying to look the girl over. Her hair was streaked with red, the white clothes she insisted on wearing stained crimson, but he couldn't tell what was her blood and what was from the undead man.

"I hit him," she continued instead of answering. Her voice was steady, Zacharie realized, but she was trembling all over, eyes staring at the ground without focus. "I hit him until he left."

He hadn't left, but he didn't move as Zacharie glanced at him. The zombie had apparently once been a businessman; a small man in a white shirt and black tie. A bloodstained nametag identified him as John Elsen, Head of Sales, Plastic Department.

"Did he hurt you, Sucre?" Zacharie asked once more, turning his attention back to the girl. She nodded, lifting her arm. Zacharie's gasp was muffled by his mask; a ragged, crimson bite wound stood in stark contrast against Sucre's pale skin.

"Oh, Sucre." Zacharie hugged her tightly, closing his eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears. "Oh, Sucre…"


	4. Intermission 2: The Batter & The Judge

"I'm surprised," Pablo commented. "You've met Zacharie so often, and never Sucre?"

"No." The Batter really didn't care about the once-judge's gossip. So what if the merchant had a girlfriend? It neither picked his pocket nor lined his wallet.

"Ah. That's a pity, she's a nice girl." Pablo continued. "A bit odd at times, but who isn't these days?"


End file.
